


Mercy, and other idiocies

by justalittlegreen



Series: Sunshine and Filth [29]
Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: Hawkeye POV, Letters, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-04
Updated: 2019-11-04
Packaged: 2021-01-22 16:47:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21305312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justalittlegreen/pseuds/justalittlegreen
Relationships: B. J. Hunnicutt/Benjamin Franklin "Hawkeye" Pierce
Series: Sunshine and Filth [29]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1173266
Kudos: 29





	Mercy, and other idiocies

There is no conference.

BJ would need an explanation, a reason. Coming out just to visit is too much to ask, especially after week after month of bland, banal letters. Hawkeye's driven himself crazy trying to read between the lines, but BJ writes even more carefully than when the army read their mail. 

_Dear Hawkeye,  
Erin tried to ride the dog like a pony this week. He seems to think it's his new job._

_Dear Hawkeye,  
I missed the beach so much. Here's a little bit of sand from the someday Hunnicutt homestead._

_Dear Hawk,  
How's your father doing?_

_Dear Hawkeye,  
If you're ever in town for a conference, be sure to stop by Mill Valley._

The abrupt shift from the tenderness of their last days in Korea to this scattered casual patter makes the former seem like a dream. Is this really the same BJ Hunnicutt who wrote him a goodbye note worthy of a geologist? 

He puts up with it for months, but Hawkeye Pierce has never had the patience for games. There are at least a few nurses who can probably attest to that; the longest person to whom he's ever nursed an attraction before acting on it was, well, BJ. He could've waited forever for BJ. And every day, he gives thanks to something unnameable that he didn't have to.

So he invents a conference. Something cardiac, something out of BJ's realm. BJ doesn't ask too many questions. Or any, actually. BJ's response is the warmest, most enthusiastic thing he's written yet.

_Dear Hawkeye,  
That's an incredible stroke of geographic luck. I hope you'll be able to come see us. I'd love for you to meet Peggy. She deserves to meet the hero of all my stories._

At first, Hawkeye can't believe BJ has the nerve to talk about him. To _Peggy_ of all people. Sure, they'd come to a truce of sorts - her willingness to do the anniversary video was proof enough of that - but Hawkeye had always thought the best way to repay Peggy's grace was to allow her to forget he existed. To send her husband home and whole, as promised. 

Of course, sending BJ home whole came at the price of sending himself home in pieces. 

And then, it dawns on him: BJ still doesn't know. She must not have said a word. And Hawkeye, for whatever it's worth, is suddenly furious. What, exactly, does BJ expect? Surely he can't still believe the fantasies he spun for himself - the idea that there was room for Hawkeye in his life, the idea that he could have them both. It's preposterous. Who but Hawkeye would ever settle for half of BJ Hunnicutt's heart? Certainly not the woman entitled to the entirety - by marriage, certainly, if not by virtue alone. 

What business does he have, descending on that house like an October storm?

He's about to take it back, to cancel the plan, to stop this madness before it begins. He sits at his desk, jerking the sticky drawer open. Something rattles and clinks as his favorite pen goes flying. 

Dog tags. Simple, silver and enough to conjure a series of memories that leave Hawkeye with his head in his hands. BJ's smile. The look in his eyes right before they kissed. His face, watching Peggy on camera. Hawkeye can all but feel the weight of BJ's head on his shoulder, drunk and angry at the world. His heart pounds. Breath comes short. A deep ache in his chest.

And so, for the second time, Hawkeye sits down and addresses an envelope to Peggy Hunnicutt, licks the stamp, and - on purpose this time - puts himself at the mercy of the US Postal Service and one _very_ unpredictable housewife.


End file.
